


That's Why We Gotta Stick Together

by Duck_Life



Series: X-Men Shorties [20]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Mojoworld, Rebellion, Snippets, and longshot is donkey, i don't know what to say except they are shrek and donkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-25 00:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20367724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Longshot and "Pup" form an uneasy bond.





	That's Why We Gotta Stick Together

There's neutral ground between Mojo City and the edge of the Wildways, and they see each other out there, like ghosts in the night. Gog looks nothing like a puppy anymore, but that doesn't stop Longshot from calling him that.

“I'm  _ always _ going to be on the side of the Spineless Ones,” Gog reminds him. “I'm the son of Magog.”

“I remember who your father is,” Longshot says. “Why should that matter though? Why does it matter who your father is? If you woke up tomorrow with no memory of your past, who you are or where you came from, where would you go?”

Gog snorts. “Nowhere. I'd be ripped to pieces, either by Mojo’s guards or your rebels.”

“Well, I would protect you.” 

He says it so matter-of-factly. “ _ Why _ ?”

“You're my friend.”

“No! I’m not!” Gog insists, pacing around in the dirt. “Why are you still under the illusion that you and I are best pals?”

Longshot shrugs. “First, it was because I didn't have any other friends and didn't know better,” he says. “But now… it's because  _ you _ don't have any other friends and you don't know better.”

  
  
  


“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Longshot asks innocently. 

“The face, okay? Cut it out. Puppy dog eyes won’t work on an actual puppy dog.” Gog growls and moves ahead, leaving thin clawmarks in the dirt and dust. “I don’t know what you expect me to do for you, Lucky. I don’t know what else you think I can do, okay? I broke every single rule for you already. I’m here, ain’t I?”

“I appreciate that,” Longshot says. 

Gog snaps, whirling around. “You don’t get it! I’ve done stuff for you that nobody would ever do for me.”

“You’re wrong.” 

“Like you know.”

“You put your integrity and your life on the line,” Longshot surmises, his hair glinting golden in the dim light. “Trusted me when everyone else was telling you not to. It’s something I would do. It’s something I would do for you.” 

  
  
  
  


“Why don’t you just quit?” Gog asks him one evening. The television signals coming in are warped and staticky. Longshot’s been fiddling with the antennae for the better part of an hour. “Mojo wins. Mojo always wins. And when he does, he makes you forget it ever happened. We could have had this flaming conversation before and you wouldn’t even know it!”

“Have we?” Longshot asks. 

“Not… not this particular conversation, no.”

“Well there you go,” Longshot beams. “Life is full of possibilities.”

“Argh, you’re not listening,” Gog sighs. “ _ Obviously _ you can never defeat Mojo, not fully. So why don’t you just quit?”

Longshot’s cheerful expression becomes solemn. “Mojopolis is full of people who don’t have the luxury of quitting,” he explains. “I was given a choice. Don’t know why— an accident, maybe, or a mean joke. But no matter how I got that choice, I do have one. And I  _ choose _ to help other people have a choice, too.” 

  
  


The day that Gog joins the rebels, Longshot remembers to say thank you. “You’re doing the right thing,” he assures Gog. 

“Not for you. And not for your stinking lucky-ones, neither,” Gog scoffs, batting away the hand that Longshot extends. “I’m here for my own private, personal reasons. Reasons you would never understand.”

Longshot folds his arms. “You’re very angry at your father and you want to get back at him.”

Gog scowls. 

“Well?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Gog says in a low voice. “But, I mean, who cares? Everybody hates their dad, right?”

“On the contrary. My dad is great,” Longshot says. “He’s the best son anyone could ask for.” He lets that stew for a moment while he grabs a water bottle and a vest for the newest recruit. “You should be aware, though,” Longshot tells him. “We’re doing all of this to depose Mojo. Your private vendettas aren’t part of our mission statement.”

“Should tell that to Goat Boy,” Gog remarks. “I’ve seen him making eyes at Six-Arms.”

“Let me explain better,” Longshot says. “What I mean is… your own feelings and vendettas aren’t more important than our collective goal. Yes? But they matter to you. They  _ are _ important. If I were to deny you your own needs and emotions, I’d be no better than Mojo.”

Gog opens his mouth to disagree with that last statement, but he thinks better of it. 

  
  


“Pup—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry. Gog, listen—”

“No.”

“What?”

“Not that either. Don’t call me anything. I don’t have a name. I’m no one. I’m nothing.”

Longshot disagrees. “You’re my friend,” he says, and then he glances over his shoulder at the faint glow of the campfires behind them, at the scattered shacks and tents of the rebel village. “You’re one of us.” 


End file.
